


I'm Broken, Do You Hear Me

by Ropewithnoanchor



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Image, Canon Compliant, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Triggers, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ropewithnoanchor/pseuds/Ropewithnoanchor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis starts acting weird and distant around Harry, and it takes Harry a little while to put together what's wrong. When he finally does, he's determined to help Louis see just how much he loves every piece of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Broken, Do You Hear Me

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I wrote this in one day with no beta or Britpicker, so all mistakes are my own. Please let me know if you catch any that affect readability. Also, this contains a fair amount about eating disorders/weight loss and may be triggering.

When they meet up at the hotel after the concert in Montreal, Harry can immediately tell that Louis’s in a mood. It’s something about Louis; he just has the power to leave his aura around a room without even actually being in it. The sound of the shower running in the en suite bathroom filters through into the bedroom, and the older boy’s suitcase lies open on top of the duvet (the thought of which makes Harry cringe and consider calling down for fresh linens). Clean clothes are strewn about in a tangle while the outfit Louis had arrived in sits in a pile on the floor. His phone peaks out from underneath a grey Topman vest, lighting up occasionally with texts and notifications as Harry tries to sort through the clothing and get the suitcase promptly off the bed. 

While Harry folds a few things and zips them away, he wonders what Louis had been digging for to make such a mess so quickly. The shower is still going when he drags the suitcase over to the closet, so Harry tucks the duvet down toward the foot of the bed and settles down on the clean sheets, feeling the exhaustion from their performance start to seep into his bones. 

Louis’s phone buzzes against his ankle, and Harry’s eyes pop open. He’s not usually one to snoop, but maybe a quick glance at Louis’s messages will shed some light on why the boy’s acting like a human tornado. Biting his lip, Harry picks up the phone, unlocking it with his own birthdate. 

There are group texts from Calvin and Oli about nothing particularly interesting, a link to a football video from Niall, and an unread message from that morning from Louis’s mum. Harry listens intently to the shower as he scrolls through, not wanting to get caught and set Louis off further. 

Exiting out of the messages and pulling up the web browser, Harry frowns. There are no windows open, but Louis had been searching through photos of their performance that night from Twitter—his history is lengthy. Harry clicks through a few, looking at the pictures and trying to figure out if something’s off about them that would’ve upset Louis, but they all seem pretty standard to him; they’re no strangers to having their pictures taken. 

The shower shuts off abruptly, and Harry nearly flings the phone across the room in his sudden panic. He closes out of all the windows and locks the phone, trying to put it back down on the bed where he found it before Louis comes out, but after five minutes, Louis still hasn’t emerged. 

Worried, Harry gets out of bed and pads across the lush hotel carpet to the closed bathroom door. “Lou?” he calls out, knocking gently. “Can I come in?” 

Louis doesn’t answer, so Harry tries the knob, surprised to find it unlocked. He opens the door a crack, the humid air inside instantly warming his face. 

He sees Louis standing sideways in front of the sink, examining himself in a spot rubbed clean on the steamy mirror. When the older boy catches Harry in the reflection, he immediately whirls around. 

“Shit, you scared me,” Louis snaps, seeming ruffled by the interruption. He ties his towel more securely around his waist and fishes his toothbrush out from his toiletry bag. 

“You alright?” Harry asks, coming up behind him and hooking his chin on Louis’s shoulder. He kisses the damp skin on his neck, breathing in the fresh smell of hotel soap. 

“M’fine,” Louis mutters, his shoulder twitching so sharply it knocks into Harry’s jaw. Harry winces as his teeth clang, immediately backing away. Louis continues to act like nothing happened, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush and wetting it under the tap. 

It’s not unusual for one of them to throw little fits, what with the high level of stress they constantly live under, but this one seems to have come completely out of left field. Harry’s dumbfounded, especially surprised to have Louis push away his affections like that. In all honesty, he had been looking forward to some post-concert sex to wind down before bed—not a sore jaw from trying to give Louis one little kiss. 

Harry washes up for bed at the other sink, continuing to glance over at Louis periodically. Louis stares determinedly forward, though, brushing his teeth so hard his gums bleed. 

Usually Harry’s nighttime routine is longer, but this time he finishes first. Skirting around Louis, he goes back into the bedroom, shedding his joggers and climbing into bed in only a t-shirt and briefs. He’s too distracted to deal with the dirty duvet now, so trying not to think of all the grime that must live on the bottom of Louis’s suitcase, he pulls the top sheet up to his chin and the duvet up to his waist. 

When Louis finally comes out, he shuts off all the lights before stripping down to only his boxers and joining Harry in the bed. “Have you seen my phone?” he murmurs, sliding his hand around the sheets in search of it. 

Harry feels a jolt of anxiety like he’s been caught, but then he remembers there’s no way Louis could know he snooped through his phone, so he reaches for the other side of the bed where he remembered placing it and silently hands it to Louis. 

“Thanks.” Louis hits a button and the screen illuminates, lighting up his face from below. Harry looks up at him from where he’s burrowed into the pillows, the harsh glow making dark shadows on Louis’s features. 

“Is something wrong?” Harry can’t help but blurt out. 

Louis glances over at him and then refocuses his eyes on the screen. He doesn’t answer, thumb sliding along the glass as he scrolls before shutting it off and tossing it with a loud clatter onto the bedside table. “Good night,” Louis mumbles, rolling onto his side. 

Harry bites back a groan of frustration. It’s useless to try and push Louis into talking; if there’s anything Harry knows for sure about the older boy, it’s that pushing him to talk only makes him lash out. So he stays quiet. 

The hotel bed is king sized, and it feels like there’s a continent between their two bodies, so Harry shuffles over across the smooth sheets and spoons up behind Louis. He feels Louis stiffen a little, and when he goes to wrap his arm around Louis’s middle, he feels Louis stiffen a lot. 

The older boy makes a funny little noise, sliding his own arm down to his stomach and sort of cradling it, blocking Harry from touching the skin. Bewildered, Harry props himself up on his elbow, nervously stroking over Louis’s bicep. 

“Do you have a stomachache?” he asks, unable to keep quiet anymore. Louis’s rejected his touches twice now. Maybe the poutine they ate before the show hadn’t sat well with him, and that’s what this is all about. 

Louis just huffs out a breath through his nose, using the hand not currently blocking his stomach to tug the sheets tighter around him. 

“Let me get you some medicine,” Harry tries. “Maybe crackers?” 

Louis shakes his head, the sound of his hair rubbing against the pillow loud in the otherwise silent bedroom. “Just sleep,” he says. “Please.” 

Harry doesn’t know what else to do, so he settles back down behind Louis, keeping their bodies close but not daring to try and embrace him again.

 

* * * * * *

 

Things stay strange between them as they perform twice in Ottawa. Louis seems especially nervous about the shows, muttering something about fans being closer to them in smaller venues as he changes into his concert clothes half-hidden behind the garment rack. Harry can hardly concentrate at all since he’s so keyed up from having no sex in the past week; he finds himself mindlessly humping his microphone stand in front of twenty thousand people and yelling about tie-dye shirts. 

After Ottawa, they fly to New York City to record a new music video. New York City is one of those places that’s especially difficult for them to move around in much, let alone go places together, so when they’re not filming they’re mostly trapped in their hotel suite, not speaking.

Harry finds himself unconsciously avoiding Louis during the video shoot, even going so far as to sneak out to the nearest Pinkberry and buy the entire crew frozen yogurt as an excuse to be alone for a little while. Louis’s negative aura is just draining, and he refuses to talk to Harry or even touch him. The lack of any sort of intimacy is making Harry insane, let alone the lack of answers. 

When they get back to their hotel after a particularly late night of filming on a Manhattan rooftop, Harry immediately finds the room service menu to order up something to eat, hoping to fill the sexless, Louis-less void in his life with food. He has to speak to Louis to at least ask him if he wants anything, though. 

“Babe, you want a burger from room service or anything?” he calls out from where he’s standing in the kitchenette, trying to sound casual even though his chest feels hot and tight. “They have chicken nuggets on the kids menu too.” 

Louis doesn’t answer at first, making Harry’s anxiety triple, but then he wanders into the little kitchen from the bathroom where he’d been about to shower, gripping a fluffy towel at his chest to hold it up. “Can I see the menu?” he asks—one of the only full sentences he’s said directly to Harry since Montreal. 

Holding his breath, Harry gives him the laminated booklet. Louis holds it with the hand not white-knuckling the towel at his sternum, peering down at the options and chewing his lower lip. 

“Never mind,” he says finally, passing the menu back. 

Harry’s mouth opens in surprise, trying to recall a time Louis passed up a midnight burger or nuggets. There had been a selection of food at the video shoot, sure, and Harry hadn’t been around Louis to notice if he’d eaten any of it, okay, but that usually doesn’t matter. 

“Louis,” Harry tries when the other boy starts walking back toward the bathroom. His tone gets more and more frantic with every question that spills out of his mouth. “Are you sick? Have you been sick? What’s the matter?” 

Louis’s bare shoulders tighten, his skin tan against the white towel. “Nothing’s the matter,” he insists without turning around, going into the bathroom. 

“Please,” Harry outright begs. He throws the menu down on the floor and follows Louis into the bathroom. He wants so badly to reach out and touch him, but he fears Louis’s reaction. “ _Please_ tell me what’s wrong. I know something’s wrong.” 

“I just want to take a shower,” Louis says flatly, not so much as glancing at Harry as he reaches into the glass enclosure and turns on the tap. The giant rain showerhead is loud, the gushing sound of water echoing around the tiled room. 

Harry’s eyes prickle and burn at the overwhelming urge to cry. He considers not fighting it and just letting the tears come, thinking maybe it’ll guilt Louis into explaining himself, but instead he feels a wave of rage wash over him. “This isn’t fair!” he yells, reaching for Louis’s arm and forcefully spinning him around. “Why are you doing this to me?!” 

Steam fills the air as Louis gapes at him. “I’m not doing anything to you!” he shouts back, hiking the towel back up from where it’s slid down. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry says icily. “You’re not doing anything to me. You’re not talking to me, you’re not touching me, _nothing._ ” 

Louis’s face twists into a grimace. “You wouldn’t understand,” he snaps, turning around to step into the shower but seeming reluctant to drop his towel. 

“Try me!” Harry pleads, his eyes burning again as they fill with frustrated tears. He steps closer to Louis where he’s facing the shower, tentatively coming up behind him and tracing the tops of his shoulders with his shaky fingertips. “Please, baby. I love you.” 

Louis freezes, but then his shoulders sag as he lets out an enormous sigh. 

“Let me shower with you,” Harry murmurs, reaching around Louis to gently pry the boy’s fingers open where they’re clutching the towel and letting it fall to the floor. His heart hammers in his chest as he presses up against Louis’s bare skin. “I miss being with you.” 

They just stand there for a few moments, Harry kissing Louis’s hair and rubbing his shoulders and waiting for the more of the tension to leave his body. Eventually, Louis parts their skin to step into the shower. 

Both their eyes are red-rimmed as they look guiltily at each other underneath the spray of the oversized showerhead. When Harry’s gaze travels down Louis’s body, searching for some sign that the boy is broken or hurting and needs fixing, Louis fidgets and crosses his arms over his stomach. 

“Don’t,” Louis pleads, stepping forward so Harry can’t look at him and sealing their mouths together. Effectively distracted, Harry kisses him back like he’s starving for it, desperate for the taste he hasn’t had in a week.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The kissing doesn’t lead anywhere. They shower and towel off, Harry eats his room service even though his stomach is twisted into knots, and then they get ready for bed. They sleep stiffly side-by-side again. 

They leave New York City to perform in Boston, the last show of the North American leg, and then they leave Boston without seeing any part of the city other than the stadium. Louis is supposed to fly with Niall to Las Vegas for his birthday while Harry and Liam fly to Los Angeles, but at the last minute, Harry demands to be on Louis’s flight. He’ll land in Vegas and then hop over to LA, he insists. His people make it happen. 

Louis doesn’t argue when Harry follows him onto the jet—in fact, he almost seems relieved. They’re all in comfortable clothes, having changed after the concert, and Niall declares he’s taking a sleeping pill to try and rest up before a weekend of hard partying and not to disturb him unless the plane is falling out of the sky. He reclines a chair at the front of the plane and disappears under a big white blanket. The bodyguards sit up front, too, allowing Harry and Louis some privacy toward the back of the small cabin. 

They take the little couch at the very back, the material of their sweatpants sliding along the buttery, beige leather seats. Harry lies down along the couch, his long legs hanging over the armrest a bit, and gestures for Louis to join him. For once, Louis doesn’t fight him, climbing on top of Harry and snuggling into the crevice between his body and the back of the couch. 

The Boston concert had been chilly and rainy, and it feels great to cuddle now—especially great since they haven’t been this close in ages. Harry holds Louis tight against him, kissing the top of his head and making sure not to touch his stomach, still convinced it must be hurting him or something. They ignore the pilot’s request to buckle up and cling to each other as they slip on the leather when the plane takes off. 

Comforted by Louis’s closeness, it doesn’t take long for Harry to drift off to sleep. The cross-country flight is a long one, especially flying east to west, and he has no idea how much time passes when he eventually cracks open an eye. Louis is still on top of him, but he’s twisted a little so he can play with his phone. In this position, Harry can easily see the screen. 

He tries not to move or even breathe differently, not wanting Louis to know he’s awake and hoping he’ll catch something that gives him insight into what’s been bothering Louis. Snooping through Louis’s messages and browser history hadn’t helped back in Montreal, but maybe actually seeing Louis in the act will shed some light on the situation. 

Louis’s watching [the behind-the-scenes video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmvU0Jk88Cg) of the photo shoot for their newest perfume, which immediately strikes Harry as odd. Those videos are made for the fans’ enjoyment, and they’re usually awkward as hell to watch themselves. The sound is muted, and Louis keeps sliding his thumb along the bottom to replay a certain part. 

It’s about ten seconds in, when Louis appears in front of the white background to be photographed. He’s drowning in a grey t-shirt, his hair slicked back and up into a quiff to accentuate his sharp cheekbones, and his tiny wrists looking damn near breakable when he dances around. Harry’s stomach drops like they hit turbulence, and it takes a lot of self control not to swallow down the nausea and risk Louis finding out he’s awake. 

His brain going into overdrive, Harry continues to secretly watch as Louis closes out of the YouTube app and goes onto Twitter. He searches for “OTRA Boston” and starts going through the photos, hesitating on the ones of himself. Harry’s heart rate picks up as Louis repeatedly double-taps on all the photos, zooming in on his own stomach and thighs. 

The painful memories of Louis’s weight loss at the end of last year resurface, and Harry bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. He remembers Louis sending him all the paparazzi photos from the airport the night after the American Music Awards, so pleased with how thin his face looked and the way his cheekbones jutted out. He remembers Louis living off of cigarettes and Red Bull. He remembers the way Louis’s body felt, always tiny but also always sturdy, and then suddenly frail and bony in all the wrong places. The thick thighs and plentiful bum that Harry loves so much had disappeared so quickly. 

Is that what this is all about? They had worked so hard together to get Louis back to a healthy place, and Harry had never expected this problem to resurface again so soon. Now that he thinks about it, though, it’s almost the exact same time of year now as when it all began last time; ending tour and entering promo season seems to be a trigger for Louis’s body issues. 

He watches as Louis starts checking his emails and decides now is a safe time to make it known that he’s awake. Fully opening his eyes and smacking his lips a little, he reaches up behind himself and stretches out his stiff spine. Louis jumps but settles back down, locking his phone screen and resting it on Harry’s stomach. 

“Sleep well?” Louis asks, and Harry’s pretty sure it’s the first time Louis’s spoken to him without being prompted in a long time. 

“Mm,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “Felt good to have you close.” 

“Aren’t I too heavy?” Louis probes, and Harry’s stomach does another nauseating drop. 

“No,” he says firmly, grabbing Louis by the hips and pulling him even more on top of him. Louis squirms, but Harry doesn’t let him move, forcing him to lie with his complete weight on Harry’s middle. “You’re never too heavy.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

Louis sleeps on top of him for the rest of the flight, and when the plane touches down in Las Vegas, Louis and Niall get off, leaving Harry to fly the short flight to Los Angeles alone. Harry had spent the entire flight convincing himself that he had to let Louis go party with Niall, there was no way around it, but it doesn’t make it any easier watching him walk out the door. 

His time alone in Los Angeles is a blur of meeting with top tier music people, getting photographed in the right places in the right clothing, and trying to catch up with friends—all while keeping tabs as best he can on Louis. Texting Niall is essentially useless, as the boy has been drunk off his ass since setting foot in Vegas, but fan photos and videos pop up on Twitter periodically and reassure Harry that Louis is at the very least alive.

After the birthday celebrations, their team drops rumors that Louis’s flying back home to London, and it creates enough of a diversion that Louis can travel safely into Los Angeles without being suspected. 

Harry knows he has to confront Louis about what’s going on. They have only a few days together in their house in LA before Louis does actually have to return to London, and when they’re reunited again, they’ll be launched into a grueling month of back-to-back-to-back concerts and then album promo immediately after that. If he doesn’t try to help Louis nip this body image issue in the bud now, he doesn’t want to think about what could happen.

Before Louis arrives, Harry orders all his favorites from Domino’s, sets out a box of Yorkshire tea and a mug, puts a football game on the TV, and wraps the new pair of Vans he’d bought for him in silvery wrapping paper. The kettle starts to whistle just as Harry hears the key turn in the lock. 

“In the kitchen!” he calls out when Louis opens and closes the door. He takes a few deep breaths to try and stay calm, anticipating a very difficult night ahead. 

Louis wanders into the kitchen, dragging a suitcase behind him. He looks worn down from a weekend of partying at Niall’s level, dark rings under his eyes and his face a little gaunt. Harry prays it’s just a sign of exhaustion and not that Louis’s been skipping meals. 

“Hey, babe,” Harry says, walking over and wrapping Louis up in a hug. He tries to inconspicuously run his hands over Louis’s body through his Adidas jumper, feeling out his ribcage and his hips like they might’ve somehow disappeared already. 

Louis gives him a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Studiously ignoring the food and tea, Louis points at the present on the kitchen counter. “What’s this then?” 

Some things never change, Harry thinks, smiling at Louis’s attention immediately going to the gift. “For you,” he says innocently, handing him the box. “Nothing big.” 

“What’s the occasion?” Louis asks, wasting no more time and ripping off the wrapping paper. He smiles when he sees the Vans box, opening it up and pulling out the sneakers. They’re black low-tops with a white bandana print, and Louis nods approvingly. “Sick, thanks Haz.”

“Just love you, that’s all,” Harry says by way of an explanation. Louis gives him an almost sad smile. 

Harry uses a spoon to fish out the tea bag from the mug, pouring a little milk into it before handing it to Louis. “Thanks, needed this,” Louis admits, taking a few gulps even though it’s still steaming hot. 

“You hungry?” Harry asks, cringing at his own awkward tone. He lifts the top on a box of pizza, pulling out a slice and putting it on a plate. When he tries to push it toward Louis, though, Louis turns his head away and shakes it. 

“No, not hungry.” 

Harry sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Louis, I know what’s going on,” he blurts out. This is happening a lot faster than he’d anticipated, but it seems pointless to delay it now. 

“What are you on about?” Louis asks, trying to sound nonchalant but there’s an unmistakable bite to his tone. 

“It’s the same as last year,” Harry says quietly. They’re standing on opposite sides of the island, and Harry’s scared to come any closer. “Baby, you can’t do this again.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Louis says, his voice startlingly loud. Harry tries not to let it rattle him. 

“You’re not letting me touch you, you’re not letting me see you naked, you think you’re too heavy to lie on me, I’m not even sure if you’ve been eating,” Harry says. It takes a lot of effort to keep his voice calm and steady. He chooses his words carefully, though, trying to make this situation about _them_ and not just pin it all on Louis and put him on the defense. 

Louis’s lip curls into a scowl, and he puts the mug down onto the counter a little too hard. He doesn’t speak, so Harry keeps going. 

“I love you so much,” he says, voice breaking, losing some of his composure. “I love you exactly the way you are, every piece of you. I see those photos of you from last year, and they… They scare me.” His eyes well up with tears before he realizes it, and it’s too late to hold them back. His voice is thick when he chokes out, “Please don’t do that to yourself again.” 

“You don’t understand!” Louis cries, echoing his sentiment from the bathroom in New York City. “W-we get photographed so much. None of you are built like me.”

“You’re built _perfectly_!” Harry insists, hastily brushing the wetness off his cheeks. He grips the counter, fighting the temptation to come around and hug Louis to him, fearful of the older boy’s reaction. “You’ve got the most perfect thighs and arse of anyone I’ve ever seen! You’d rather have toothpick legs like Niall? I don’t want to make love to toothpicks, babe.” 

Louis laughs a little through his tears, but his face is still hard and pinched. “M’built like a girl,” he mumbles, cheeks heating up. “Rather be built like Liam.” 

“You think Liam would agree with that?” Harry asks. “How many fucking articles have called him fat? How many times has he cried over it?” 

Louis bites his lip, since Harry has a point. As the silence grows, Harry finally stops fighting himself and walks around the island, coming to stand in front of Louis. Louis stares at the floor, so Harry kisses his forehead and hair, rubbing his shoulders through his jumper.

“Let me show you,” Harry whispers. “Let me show you how much I love you exactly the way you are.” 

Louis still doesn’t say anything, so Harry uses one hand to gently tip his chin up. Their mouths meet, the kiss tainted with salty tears, their wet cheeks sticking together. Louis tastes like sweet tea and cigarettes, and Harry savors it, having missed kissing him so much. 

Without breaking apart their lips, Harry swivels them so Louis’s back is pushed up against the counter, Harry’s knee slotted between his slightly parted thighs. He hears Louis gasp as Harry presses against him, their groins rubbing together. Harry has to hold himself back a little; resist the temptation to just throw Louis down on the kitchen floor and do it right here, right now. He wants to absolutely worship his perfect body, but it’s hard to take it slow when he hasn’t had anything more than his own hand in over a week. 

“Harry,” Louis breathes, his hips rolling against Harry’s. “Fuck.”

“Gonna take care of you,” Harry promises, littering Louis’s neck and jaw with tiny kisses. “Don’t worry.” 

Harry makes himself put everything on pause so they can take it to the bedroom. Just to further prove his point that Louis’s size is the perfect size, he takes the boy by the waist and throws him over his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his thighs to hold him in place as he marches upstairs. Louis’s feet kick and his fists rain down on his back, his cries and giggles muffled into Harry’s shirt where he’s hanging upside down. 

When Harry tosses him bodily onto the bed, Louis’s hair is sticking straight up and his face is flushed, but he’s smiling. “Animal,” Louis scoffs, straightening out his clothes. 

“Don’t bother with that,” Harry says, crawling onto the bed toward him and promptly ripping Louis’s joggers off his legs. His boxers come off next, and then Harry grabs the hem of his t-shirt and tugs it off over his head. 

Louis’s hands immediately go to cover his lower stomach, and the concept of his boyfriend trying to hide any part of his body from him makes Harry’s blood freeze. 

“No,” he growls, wrapping his long fingers around Louis’s wrists and pinning them firmly to the mattress by his hips. 

Louis whines and squirms a little, feeling exposed and vulnerable with his most hated spots on display. Harry wastes no time, dropping his lips down to the soft little bump beneath Louis’s bellybutton and covering it with wet, open-mouthed kisses. 

“This is my favorite part of you,” Harry says, the words tickling Louis’s stomach. Before Louis can say anything, Harry seals his mouth over the skin, sucking hard and digging his teeth in. 

Louis gasps at the sharp, stinging pain, struggling against Harry’s hands where they’re still pinning his wrists. Harry doesn’t stop until he’s sure he’s left a bruise and Louis’s heels are digging into the mattress. When he lifts his head, his lips are shining where they curve into a satisfied smile. 

“I like this part of you, too,” Harry says as his mouth trails further down Louis’s body, ghosting over his semi-hard cock. “But this is my other favorite part.” He nudges Louis’s legs apart with his head, still not releasing his wrists, and then he starts sucking at the softest spot on Louis’s inner thigh.

“Oh, fuck,” Louis hisses, trying to hold still as Harry makes another bruise. Even as his thighs close around Harry’s head, the younger boy keeps going, moving his mouth up and down to spread the marks out. 

Harry doesn’t hold back; they don’t have any photo shoots or performances for another week, so there’s no reason Louis would have a hard time hiding the marks. He turns his head as best he can in the cage of Louis’s thighs and starts sucking on the other one, feeling Louis’s muscles rhythmically clench and relax with every bite. 

Abruptly, Harry grabs Louis’s ankles and forces his legs up, bending them until they’re almost pressed to his chest. With his newly freed hands, Louis grabs onto his knees to hold his legs in place, feeling the distant sting of the sore spots on his inner thighs. 

“Good boy,” Harry praises, staring down at Louis’s cock and hole, all exposed for him. “Not going to hide these from me, right?” He bends down to give Louis’s taint a quick kiss, making him shiver. 

“Will you fuck me?” Louis asks, his voice tight and high. Harry’s just glad Louis’s as desperate for it as he is. 

“Well, this is my _other_ other favorite part of you,” Harry says, petting over Louis’s entrance with two dry fingers until he whines. “So I think it deserves some attention too.” 

Shuffling back on the mattress, Harry gives himself enough room to lie on his stomach with his face right at Louis’s unprotected hole. It feels so good to have Louis all spread out for him like this, after having watched the boy dodge and hide from him for a week. He sticks his tongue out and licks a slow circle around the puckered muscle. 

He starts adding to Louis’s new collection of bruises, sucking the soft skin of his perfect bum into his mouth. He takes his time, making the marks big and dark, purposefully avoiding Louis’s hole until the boy is panting and writhing; he wants Louis to remember this moment every time he sits down for the next month. 

“Fuck me,” Louis begs, letting go of his knees to reach down and grab Harry’s curls. He takes two fistfuls and holds the younger boy’s head in place, grinding his ass down. 

Harry’s cock twitches where it’s pinned to the mattress underneath him as he’s practically suffocated between Louis’s legs. Figuring he’s tormented Louis long enough, he starts working his tongue into him, licking and kissing messily at his rim. Louis doesn’t let go of his hair even as his body starts to tremble, his ankles locking over Harry’s upper back. 

Harry eats him out as long as he can with such limited oxygen, and then he pinches one of the bruises on Louis’s bum until the boy releases him. Louis collapses against the sheets as Harry straightens up, his chest heaving and shining with sweat. 

Moving forward on his knees, Harry lines their cocks up and wraps his hand around both of them together, stroking gently. It gives him a moment to admire his work, tracing his free hand over the reddened marks on Louis’s lower stomach and inner thighs. He can’t see the ones on his ass, but he’s confident they’re there. By morning, they’ll all be black and blue. 

Louis watches him, biting on his lower lip and rolling his hips ever so slightly with the rhythm of Harry’s strokes. “How do you want it?” Harry asks, slightly breathless. 

“J-just like this,” Louis manages to whisper; he wants to be able to see Harry. 

Harry nods, letting go of Louis so he can reach for the lubricant in their bedside table drawer. He slicks up his fingers and settles back down between Louis’s spread legs. 

“You look so perfect,” he murmurs as he swirls one wet digit around Louis’s hole. “So hot, babe.” 

Louis’s cheeks flush at the praise, but he’s quickly distracted by the feeling of Harry’s finger sliding inside him. It’s been way, way too long, he decides, his breathing picking up as Harry begins thrusting in and out. 

Harry doesn’t have to ask when Louis’s ready for more; he just knows. He slips a second finger in alongside the first, using both digits to finger-fuck Louis rough, holding his hips down with his free hand. Louis’s brain briefly flares with horror at the idea of Harry holding onto his well-padded love handles, but he shoves the thought aside, focusing on the feeling of Harry opening him up instead. 

“One week without sex and you’re as tight as the first time,” Harry teases, working his ring finger inside. Louis gasps at the brief pain, but soon Harry’s fingers don’t even feel like enough. 

“Fuck me _now_ ,” Louis demands, arching his spine and feeling the sheets stick to his sweaty back. Harry grins, scissoring his fingers open a few more times before withdrawing. 

He drizzles lube over his cock and uses his hand to spread it around, unable to wait another second to be buried inside his boyfriend. Louis’s calves wraps around his hips and pull him forward as Harry lines up at his hole, slowly pushing inside. 

Louis’s eyes squeeze shut at the initial discomfort, holding his breath until Harry bottoms out. Harry gives him a few moments to adjust, bending over so he can kiss Louis’s pouting lower lip. 

“You alright?” Harry whispers, using every ounce of his willpower to keep still. Louis’s so hot and tight around him, it’s damn near impossible to wait. 

Louis nods his head, shifting his hips a tiny bit. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. Move. You can move,” he gushes. 

Harry doesn’t waste another second, pulling out quickly before shoving back in. Louis chokes on a groan, his arms shooting out to grab onto Harry’s shoulders to help stay in place. 

“Love you so much,” Harry mumbles, peppering Louis’s slack mouth kisses as his hips find a steady rhythm. Louis’s eyes roll back as Harry starts really fucking him, clinging to him with all four limbs. 

“M’sorry,” Louis chokes out, his nails digging into the back of Harry’s neck. “Sorry for this past week… Sorry…” 

“No, baby,” Harry shushes him, using a shaky hand to push Louis’s fringe off his sweaty forehead, kissing the exposed skin. “Nothing to be sorry for. We’re gonna fix it. Together.” 

Louis opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a broken moan as Harry doubles his pace. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he manages to gasp. “You feel so good, Harry, fuck.” 

It feels like it’s been months since they’ve had sex, not a week, Harry thinks as he curls his body and fucks Louis as hard as he can. Louis just takes it, sprawled out and open on top of the sheets, his erection bouncing on his abdomen with every one of Harry’s thrusts. The wet head of it nearly brushes over the love bites on Louis’s lower stomach, and Harry can’t help but stare. 

Louis doesn’t try to cover himself this time, letting Harry look at his insecurities as long as he wants. 

Satisfied in just that simple show of acceptance, Harry rewards Louis by gripping his cock and matching his strokes to his thrusts. Louis’s hips jack off the bed at the sudden increase of pleasure, his head thrown back against the pillows. 

“Gonna come, gonna come,” he chokes out, his heels digging into Harry’s lower back. He holds Harry in place that way, forcing him to stay buried to the hilt before Louis starts coming. 

The tightness of Louis’s hole as it clenches with his orgasm has stars sparkling in front of Harry’s eyes, and he can hardly see as Louis’s cock paints white stripes all over the hickeys on Louis’s stomach. 

“Fuck yeah,” Harry grunts, starting to thrust again once Louis’s stopped spasming enough to let him move. Louis just lies there limply post-orgasm as Harry uses his body to get off, too. 

Harry pulls out just before he comes, wrapping a hand around himself and aiming for the same spot where Louis’s cum sits. He lets out a weak whine as a jolt of pleasure shoots up his spine and his orgasm hits, adding to the mess on Louis’s skin. 

Chest heaving with his breaths, Harry sits back on his calves with Louis’s legs spread around him. There’s an angry red line of newly blooming bruises down the insides of both Louis’s thighs, matching the cum-covered spots underneath his bellybutton. Harry’s tempted to lift Louis’s legs up so he can see the marks on his bum, but Louis looks so fucked out and peaceful that Harry doesn’t want to disturb him. 

Harry grabs a baby wipe out of the bedside table drawer and uses it to clean them both up of cum and lube. (It’s nice to be in their own house where things like these are readily accessible.) Louis doesn’t move, letting Harry scrub at all the spots he’d been trying so hard to hide this past week. Harry smiles, tossing the wipe aside and tracing his fingertips over the clean skin. 

“C’mere,” Louis whines, tugging Harry down onto the mattress with him. He curls up against Harry’s side, hooking a leg around his thigh and pillowing his head on Harry’s chest. “Thank you.” 

“Everything’ll be okay,” Harry promises, stroking through Louis’s matted hair and gently scratching his scalp. “We got through this once, we’ll get through it again.” 

Louis just nods, his eyes sliding closed from Harry’s fingers in his hair. “Love you,” he mumbles. 

“Love you, too. Every part of you.”

 

* * * * * * *

 

When Harry wakes up the next morning, Louis’s body is gone from his side, but the spot on the sheets beside him is still warm. As he wakes up more fully, he can hear the other boy moving around in the bathroom, a sliver of light coming from under the door. 

“Babe?” he calls out, his voice rough. 

The bathroom door opens a crack and Louis’s head peaks out. His hair is a mess and his eyes are still half-lidded with sleepiness. “What?” 

“What are you doing in there?” Harry asks, a little nervous to hear the answer. Last time he had caught Louis in the bathroom, he realizes, the boy had been examining the body he hated so much in the mirror. 

“Well if you must know, I’m trying to decide whether all these love bites are hot, or if it looks like I was attacked by an animal,” Louis teases. He leaves the door open as he returns to the mirror, assuming Harry won’t be able to resist coming in and having a look. 

He’s right. Harry quickly slides out of bed, stretching his arms above his head as he walks into the bathroom. He finds Louis standing naked in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the bathroom closet door, holding his bum apart so he can look at the bruises on the insides of his cheeks. 

“Fuck,” is all Harry can manage as he gets a good look at the discolored skin. Louis grins smugly as he turns around, showing Harry his inner thighs. 

“Animal attack,” Louis decides, rubbing his fingertips into the bruises on his lower stomach. 

“Guess I’m the animal,” Harry says with a grin, closing the gap between them and kissing Louis deeply, morning breath be damned. 

“Thanks for last night,” Louis murmurs, tucking his head into Harry’s neck. 

“I promise I’ll help you,” Harry says. He rubs Louis’s back soothingly, resisting the urge to give his bruised arse a good squeeze. “I-I should’ve known this wasn’t a one-time thing, I’m sorry. I didn’t understand.” 

He can feel Louis’s face heat up against his skin in embarrassment. Harry realizes now that Louis’s battle with his weight and his body image will probably be lifelong, but he’s okay with it—together, they can get through it, every time it resurfaces. 

“You want me to cook breakfast?” he asks, trying to envision the contents of the fridge and if there’s anything he can pull together. “Eggs, maybe?” 

Louis shakes his head, and for a second, Harry panics. “There’s a perfectly good Domino’s still sitting on the kitchen counter,” Louis says, and Harry laughs so hard he snorts.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a [tumblr post](http://ropewithnoanchor.tumblr.com/post/129506672541/im-broken-do-you-hear-me) for this fic if you'd like to reblog and recommend :) And follow me too if you'd like!


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